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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23321068">We'll Talk Later</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/completetheory/pseuds/completetheory'>completetheory</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Affection, Alien Culture, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Nonbinary Character, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Queer Friendly, Rimming, Trans Female Character, Xenophilia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:55:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,410</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23321068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/completetheory/pseuds/completetheory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fledgling Sunday and Prince Sebastian share a little stolen intimacy in-between disasters and intrigue. </p><p>Set loosely in the Blankets The Night universe, but it could fit just about anywhere, and is spoiler free.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sebastian LaCroix/Original Nosferatu Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We'll Talk Later</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadScientific/gifts">MadScientific</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunday Latimore had the face of an abyssal creature, up from the primordial black with lantern fish grin, and the soul of a saint. They padded into the bedroom of the Prince, freshly showered, monstrous in every limb and comfortable in their nudity, in a way that only perfect trust could engender.</p><p>LaCroix sat in bed with a manila folder, skimming the latest local intelligence (courtesy of Tung) without much interest, similarly nude and similarly comfortable. Her body bore the original scars of her survival at Waterloo, and other mystery breakage-and-healing, likely from her later sojourn to Africa. </p><p>She gave Sunny a rare smile, inviting them up beside her, and wrapped Sunday in the crook of her arm as the Nosferatu climbed up and pressed against her. </p><p>The bedroom (and reception room, indeed) may have seemed ostentatious to some, but they served as important Touchstones to the Ancilla Prince, styled after the time period to which she had been born as an anchor to things comforting and familiar. The great majority of her ‘vast wealth’ that those like Nines Rodriguez might sneer at was not used to enrich herself, but to protect Kindred-kind from exposure, hire security to handle malcontents like Bach and the Sabbat, and buy important political figures in the never-ending game of keepaway from humankind.</p><p>Who would begrudge a gilt ceiling, or a dozen paintings, or a carved fireplace, as payment for an attempt to better and protect all Kindred and kine alike? </p><p>Well, Sunday wouldn’t begrudge it. For the first time in what felt like a very long time, LaCroix had someone who believed in her, and she was loathe to waste Sunday’s affection. Incredibly, the Nosferatu did things for her because they wanted to, and seemed almost unmoved, disinterested in reward. They emerged from their sewer not to judge mankind, or LaCroix, but to offer whatever help seemed reasonable, and then disappeared again. </p><p>She stroked a hand down their arm, finding it a task to determine by touch alone where their leathery skin left off and their bondage-cuffs began. “Sunny.” She had begun with <i>Mx. Latimore</i>, graduated in familiarity after a time to ‘Sunday’, and now, in private intimate spaces, used the nickname with warm gratitude.</p><p>“Hi,” Sunday said softly into her ear, and kissed the side of her face, nipping at the cool flesh of her jaw.</p><p>Sunday had no breeding, no decorum - they was a completely unpredictable individual, save that dead-set loyalty to her, and their desire to cause no unnecessary bloodshed. Anything else... Well. She laced her fingers between the curved and heavy claws of their offered hand - blunted claws, as their strength was enough by itself without laceration - and pressed that hand to their heart. It did not beat, the blood moved through other means in most Kindred, but the symbolic motion was enough. </p><p>“I do adore you.” LaCroix said, softly, calmly, as if the admission, too-vigorous, would be taboo. The Ventrue were passionate, but passion that was uncontrolled was always viewed with suspicion. </p><p>“I adore you too,” Sunday returned, rolling to press their face to LaCroix’s chest as well, nestling up under her chin protectively. </p><p>They satisfied themself there for some minutes before beginning to kiss, languid and lazily, down LaCroix’s ribs, building up the personal courage and testing that LaCroix was in the mood before venturing deeper, kissing and enveloping her cock in their long lolling tongue. Sunny was able to wrap around even LaCroix’s average flaccid penis thrice with the fullest extent of their tongue, framed by wicked, tamed fangs. </p><p>Sebastian rolled her hips up in response, one light-fingered hand wandering to the back of Sunny’s head, stroking without pressure. </p><p>“Sunday-...” She gathered herself, reading that split-skull grin as Sunday gave a luxurious pull, only to re-entwine and engulf Sebastian with lips and all the care that their teeth demanded. She had never felt more safe. Sunday made her feel as if she was at home - as if all this struggle, stress and difficulty was worthwhile. They moved with a predictable, tidal rhythm, breathing unnecessarily in and out to bathe LaCroix’s dick in warmth as she obligingly stiffened. </p><p>The Nosferatu held up their hands, happy to demonstrate their eagerness and skill without, and then relocated both to the Prince’s hips. They let go long enough to promise, “I’m yours, my Prince,” and then went right back at it with gusto, feeding LaCroix into their mouth as if they needed her more than air. For Kindred, that was true.</p><p>“Nn. Yes, you are.” Sebastian confirmed, when she could even halfway trust her voice, “And I am yours.” </p><p>Call it the <i>noblesse oblige</i> of the Ventrue Clan, where for the best of them, privilege entailed responsibility, or the concept of public servitude, where Sebastian herself engaged even thankless chores like interfacing with Primogen she would sooner dismiss. Call it the courage of being a visible target when a well-connected, grudge-holding Kindred killer prowled the globe in search of her - one among thousands - or the restraint she had shown in the theatre and the trust she had developed in Sunday’s competence and loyalty thereafter. </p><p>Whichever, or all of these, allowed the Nosferatu to accept her claim as true. </p><p>She melted in Sunday’s caresses, closing her eyes with a half-spoken warning as she came, and Sunday vigorously swallowed, accepting the liquid with the same desire they would have accepted precious blood. </p><p>Sebastian’s rehearsed breath fell away and she lay quiescent, spent in the afterglow. Her fledgling kissed her thighs with reverence, nuzzled back against LaCroix’s questing hands that sought to frame their face and return their affection with equal caresses. Sunday nipped at her fingers playfully, and then climbed up to straddle Sebastian’s chest, peering down into her face. </p><p>The angelic and the demonic evaluated one another in mutual bliss, with LaCroix’s fingers defining the territory of Sunday’s chest. She mapped the natural peaks and dips of jagged ribs, and the artificial leylines of bondage straps, curling her fingers in the latter in a bid to claim more openly what she desired most.</p><p>Sunday arched and displayed for her, opening their mouth again to let that horrible tongue loll out between their mass of teeth.</p><p>“Good Ventru.” LaCroix laughed with rare energy, “You’re a masterpiece.” </p><p>Sunday felt delight tingle up their spine, and the stirrings of lust in their groin, which the Nosferatu ‘curse’ had by default divided into two equivalently functioning sets of genitalia. Sunday liked them both, and in general liked the opportunity to liberate, and ‘revel in their monstrous nature’, which meant only accepting and modifying their body in the ways they desired. It did not necessarily follow that they sought to ruin lives, or be selfish and dangerous, if they loved themself. </p><p>Indeed, LaCroix’s concern for the Masquerade manifesting itself as low casualties in the human realm went a long way toward Sunday’s original affection for her, and the Ventrue Prince had not yet disappointed their intuition. </p><p>Their lust did not escape LaCroix’s notice, either. “Should you like to consummate, there’s lubricant under the bed.” </p><p>She could afford to be playfully lofty without the fear of losing Sunny’s esteem for her. The Nosferatu’s jigsaw grin served as answer, and Sunday slid through the sheets to retrieve the object of their interest, opening the cap with claws whose dexterity was greater than their saurian appearance might suggest. </p><p>Nevertheless, Sebastian’s slim, small fingers inserted themselves between Sunday’s own, dipping into the lube and then trailing a long wet line down their chest to their groin, where the Ventrue closed around and began to stroke Sunday’s dick in proprietary fashion.</p><p>Sunday’s eyes widened. “Prince.”</p><p>“You don’t need to be so formal with me.” Sebastian encouraged, “I know your loyalty, your respect... they are hard earned. They will not be lost but by the same degree. Say my name, instead.” </p><p>“Mmmf. Sebastian.” Sunday tripped happily through the syllables, appreciating the nimble fingers more each moment, “Don’t let me--cum without permission,” They suggested, though it looked as though they was prepared to abandon the request and even look abashed if it was unwelcome.</p><p>Sebastian reassured, “I enjoy taking charge in the bedroom, as well as relinquishing it sometimes. You and I are not so different, we are well balanced individuals in many respects - we suit one another. My Sire taught me it is very difficult to do anything well if you don’t find someone to offset some of your personal weaknesses, which we all have.” </p><p>Her fingers were incredibly good, it was hard for Sunday to focus on her words, especially when they was panting in a most becoming and un-Kindred-like way. </p><p>“Weaknesses,” Sunday repeated, with effort, “What like?” </p><p>“I do enjoy the occasional bolstering.” LaCroix admitted, working them to full hardness and then stopping, still gripping their cock in a familiar way, “I’d prefer it doesn’t leave this room, but you’re good for my ego.” </p><p>“Everybody can use a little praise.” Sunday regained the ounce of poise necessary to reassure her it was not abnormal to want appreciation or good feedback, “Aah-... I’ll gladly do that for you.” </p><p>LaCroix lay back on her elbows, evaluating the leviathan-like face, the way the crooked grin turned dreamy when it fixed on her. “If you’d like to penetrate me, we might test your resolve to hold off orgasm.” She added, “Or I could dominate you into being incapable without permission. The choice is yours.” </p><p>Sunday’s mouth worked, temporarily overcome by delight at that news. “You can make me not cum?” </p><p>“If you like.” As excited as Sunday obviously was, LaCroix didn’t want to overstep. Using domination unnecessarily was another big Ventrue taboo, and nothing that she’d enjoy feeling mid-fuck.</p><p>Sunday backed up, wriggling back between her legs. “That sounds ridiculously hot. <i>Sebastian.</i>” They put the plea into her name, and she grinned wild enough to bare teeth more often studiously concealed.</p><p>“<b>No orgasm until I say so.</b>” She intoned, and the words wrapped themselves cockring-tight around her partner’s hindbrain.</p><p>Sunday leaned down to resume kissing the insides of her legs, moving studiously to lap at her ass, putting that tongue to good use. Sebastian was prepared to suggest the lube, but with Sunday’s vigor in rimming, it almost didn’t seem necessary after all - and she didn’t trust her voice not to shake. </p><p>She lay back, opening her legs wider in invitation, and Sunday drew back, lining themself up, and nudged up against her. LaCroix relaxed, trusting utterly that Sunday would monitor for her discomfort and adjust speed accordingly, and the Nosferatu did indeed take their time until urged to greater speed. </p><p>They pressed deep into her, and Sebastian reached up, palming their elongated jaw and meeting their eyes in a moment of sudden clarity. This was a trust that took decades, centuries to build in Kindred society, enacted between these two in a matter of weeks. This was risky, perhaps even foolish, but she could find no reason to hold back, and the Ancilla Prince had prospered a great deal by this trust. </p><p>Sunday was lover, protector, adopted Childe, confidante... </p><p>Heart of her heart, in some ways. Even with all these things, LaCroix felt closest to them for their shared ideology - for Sunday’s support of the Camarilla, of <i>her</i>, specifically, as Prince of Los Angeles.</p><p>She had so much appreciation for Sunday, closing her eyes again to more fully feel Sunny’s dick deep inside, how it moved, creating glorious friction that set her alight with further desire. The fact that Sunday would gladly not cum again until told was helping her toward her second erection, as Sunny repositioned her hips for a better angle. </p><p>Outside of sessions with her own Sire, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt this secure, this comfortable being handled and lifted and vulnerable with someone of superior strength. Of course, domination evened the odds, but she was primarily glad to be able to relax, to trust that she wouldn’t need to use it. Fortitude was always handy for speeding up insertion, and even Sunday, with that early slowness to thrust, seemed <i>slightly</i> surprised that she was not in need of careful handling. </p><p>Perhaps she was projecting, though. She was used to most people assuming she was a ‘dandy’, and it tended to color their judgments of her in hilariously inaccurate ways, including the assumption she had never been a frontline soldier, or endured hardship. Sunday hadn’t made assumptions like <i>those</i>, so she could forgive a little unnecessary extra consideration. </p><p>Especially when they changed their behavior so readily, and so well, fucking her hard enough then to bring her out of her thoughts, make her arch in response and suck in a startled, optional breath. Sunday’s stride was very welcome, and she rode the crest of pleasure, and came the second time more impressively than the first. Sunday sank into her, hard as only the discipline could make them hard, because watching her move like that almost to the point of lifting Sunday off her was exceptionally hot, too. </p><p>Sunday nuzzled her neck, and <i>that</i> intimacy, even, didn’t stir fear in her. Amazing. She was half tempted to introduce blood sharing, but the Nosferatu’s erection still hilt-deep inside her reminded her of a more... pressing concern. </p><p>“Do you still want to come?” She asked, with levity. </p><p>“Yes...” Sunday managed, “Please.” </p><p>“Pull out,” LaCroix sat back against the headboard, watching her partner’s face intently. Her own hands wandered back south to take renewed possession of Sunday’s dick, caressing, squeezing, and teasing it as Sunday’s expression went from yearning to an even more immediate lust. Without that permission, they could do nothing but writhe and happily beg, supplicating again with another neck kiss - they had no idea how inflammatory and pleasant that was. Or did they?</p><p>Sebastian deeply loved this Nosferatu, so much so that it was taking time to explore exactly how much. “All right. Go ahead.”</p><p>No sooner had she said it than Sunday was obeying, half relief, half ecstasy in their motion and they nibbled her neck the moment they’d recovered sufficiently to do so, whispering gratitude into her ear. </p><p>“That was amazing. I have done some wild things, but... I really enjoyed that-...” Their voice faltered as Sebastian idly licked her fingers, and Sunny swallowed hard. </p><p>“You’re welcome to return and sleep the day.” Sebastian remarked, with an expression that said, unlike Sunny, <b>she</b> knew exactly what she was doing. “I’d be happy to ...receive you again.”</p>
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